


Just look at You

by SweetSorcery



Category: Dawn of the Dead (1978)
Genre: 1970s, Apocalypse, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot, Rare Pairing, Romance, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-30
Updated: 2009-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-05 11:46:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Roger have fun "shopping" for clothes. Fun which involves fetishes, sticky substances, fancy fabrics, slight bondage, and, to be perfectly honest, no zombies at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just look at You

Peter felt like a fool doing this, by himself, in the middle of the deserted men's department. But what did it matter? No one to see, after all. At least, that's what he thought.

"Poser!" came Roger's amused voice from behind a rack of suits.

Peter threw a look over his shoulder which didn't even pretend to be a glare. But that was okay, because Roger was still out of sight. "Dammit, Roger, can't you be tall enough to be seen?"

Roger came out, smirking. "Fran said you'd gone to find some clothes. I just figured you'd grab a few things and bring them back. Man, you're vain."

Peter wanted to deny this, but looking at the piles of clothing strewn all around him in a half circle where he stood before the largest mirror in the men's department, he couldn't really. "Nothin' else to do, is there?" he said instead, shrugging. And then took a step back and half turned to see how the dark grey pants looked from behind.

Roger just grinned, arms crossed as he leaned against the rack and watched.

"You gonna stand there?" Peter asked without looking at him.

"Like you said, nothing else to do." Roger looked Peter up and down. "The jeans looked better."

Peter quirked his brow at him. "How long have you been standing there?"

"A few minutes." Roger chuckled. "I really liked the cowboy thing you did with the holster. You know..." He imitated Peter's quick-draw action, but laughing as he was, it just didn't come off right.

Peter crossed his arms and gave Roger a very stern look. But when Roger only continued laughing right into his face, he joined in. "All right, trooper. All right. Time for me to have some fun with you."

Roger just imitated Peter's eyebrow quirk right back at him.

"Go on, get some clothes." Peter waved Roger away.

"Hey, I don't care what I wear, man. Unlike you. I need a good reason."

"I don't kick your ass for laughin' at me?"

"Okay, that'll do." Roger darted around the corner, cackling.

Less than five minutes later, Peter was back in the jeans and a deep blue shirt, and Roger was back with an armful of clothes.

Peter laughed out loud when Roger nearly staggered into him with his view obscured. "Oh, I see. You don't care, huh?"

"If we're gonna do a fashion show here, we'll do it right," Roger declared reasonably. "Anyway, I've been wanting some leather gear for years."

Peter grinned, casually reached for a blue and grey striped tie off a rack, and started tying it.

"A tie? Oh man." Roger laughed. "What, you gonna get a job with mall management?"

"Nothin' wrong with a tie, Rog. It's like jewellery."

"Sure it is. A strip of fabric..." Roger started, but shut up when Peter dropped his hands and inspected himself in the mirror. "Okay, looks good on you, I guess."

Peter smiled at him. "You think?"

Roger shrugged. "Hey, what do I know?"

"Not much. Hell, Rog. What's _that_?" Peter pulled a face and picked up a shimmering, pale blue polyester shirt between his fingertips.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's plastic, man. You got no style. Hang on."

Peter was off like a shot, and Roger took the opportunity to strip off his SWAT uniform and pour himself into a pair of black leather pants. He tucked his white T-Shirt in casually. By the time Peter got back with a couple of shirts over his arm, Roger was in his spot in front of the mirror, admiring himself.

Peter stopped a little off to the side and assessed him with a smirk.

"What? I look hot in this, just so you know." Roger nodded confidently at his mirror image. When no response came except for a quiet chuckle, he turned around. "What did you get?"

"Polyester is shit, man. Silk's the thing."

"Can't afford--" Roger started, then laughed out loud.

Peter joined in. "Hey, lemme buy them for you. How about it?"

"If you insist." Roger winked at Peter and started inspecting the two shirts Peter had brought back. "Almost the same colour as the one I had."

"Yeah. Matches your eyes."

Roger looked up at Peter curiously. "It does?"

Peter, realizing what he'd said, quickly turned away and busied himself with one of the shirts he hadn't tried yet. "Go ahead, put one on," he muttered.

Roger blinked in confusion, stripped off the T-Shirt, and shrugged on one of the shirts, immediately realizing just what a vast difference there was between polyester and silk. "Wow, man!" he exclaimed while buttoning up. "This feels..."

Peter had turned back, a white cotton shirt hanging open off his broad shoulders, his tie loosened but not quite undone on bare skin, and he was looking at Roger in the mirror. No, not looking. Staring.

"Peter?" Roger blinked at Peter's reflection. Peter swallowed. Hard. Roger had tucked the sea blue shirt loosely behind the waist of his leather pants, and the contrast to his fair skin and wheat-coloured hair was startling. Stunning.

"Looks good, Rog," Peter said unevenly.

"Thanks, Peter." Roger tried to smile, tried to sound casual.

But Peter just kept looking at him in the mirror, and something in the way his dark eyes roamed up and down his reflection made Roger shiver. He felt edgy, too warm. Felt the need to say something else, because Peter looked incapable of it. And Peter looked... amazing in that open white shirt and half undone tie.

So Roger said the first and only thing his scrambled mind came up with. "You look pretty good too." Then promptly wished he could sink into the ground as his words floated weirdly between them, a propos of nothing. Well, not nothing exactly. Peter was not only half naked from the waist up, he had only zipped but not belted his latest change of pants - deep blue jeans - and was staring at Roger.

"I mean..." Roger tried to back-pedal, because shit, Peter was only half dressed. What would he make of Roger's stupid--

All of a sudden, Peter seemed a lot closer. Maybe it was the mirror, but he looked to be standing right behind Roger now. And Roger could smell him. That hint of cinnamon mixed with tobacco, Jack Daniel's and musk - a warm, heady mix - was all around him like the warmth radiating off Peter's body. Which was very, very close.

Roger felt hypnotized, felt like in a dream when Peter lifted his hands and laid them on his shoulders. He felt them warm through the silk, as if they were on his bare skin. And the idea of them on his bare skin was suddenly vivid in his mind, electrified him as if Peter's hands were charged. He swallowed back a groan, swallowed back panic when he realized how the vision aroused him. Swallowed so hard it was audible in the silence between them. And unreasonably, Roger was suddenly more terrified of Peter moving away from him than he had ever been of anything, the returning dead included. So he took a gamble, raised his eyes to their combined mirror image, and smiled invitingly.

Peter's eyes widened above him, and the grip on Roger's shoulders tightened. And then those warm hands ran down Roger's arms slowly, over his biceps and down to his wrists, before stroking back up past his shoulders and towards his neck.

Roger gasped in a breath when the pads of Peter's thumbs pushed in gently, up under his hair and against his skull, and he shivered violently. And before he could regain his mental balance, he was pulled back against Peter. He felt the knot of the tie and the heat of Peter's bare skin and even the small buttons of Peter's open shirt pressing into his back through the thin silk. There was nothing else between them, Roger realized. His pulse was racing.

Peter nuzzled Roger's hair. And the maddening hands ran down his arms again, long fingers almost encircling them when they moved down to his forearms.

Roger was sure the silk was melting into his skin. He was fully dressed but he felt completely naked. And he decided he'd never wear anything but silk ever again if he could help it.

Peter's breathing was fast and hot against Roger's scalp, and then Peter's mouth pressed into his hair.

There was a pathetic whimper, and Roger realized he was the one doing the whimpering. He'd never even _looked_ at a guy that way before. Or... well, he'd sure never done anything about it. But this was Peter. And Peter... Peter was different. Peter was special.

Peter was breathing against Roger's left ear, and then his lips closed around the sensitive outer rim of the shell, and Roger was completely lost.

"God, Peter," he whispered, pushing back on instinct and feeling Peter's warmth all the way down his own body. His eyes had closed, but now he opened them, watched Peter nuzzling his ear in the mirror. Watched Peter's hands sliding forward until they met over his chest to flick open one, two, three buttons. Roger's flawless, golden hued skin showed in the open V of his blue shirt, and when he held his breath in anticipation of Peter's hands sliding inside, they moved away again. He moaned in annoyance.

Peter smiled. "Patience, baby."

Roger nodded, barely remembering to breathe while Peter's long fingers trailed up to the collar of his shirt and inside to brush against his bare neck. The intimacy of the touch made Roger's knees shake. And before he could recover, Peter's teeth nipped at the rim of his ear lightly.

Roger groaned, his head arching back against the broad chest.

Peter spared a moment's hazy thought to just what it was he was initiating, because he hadn't been thinking at all when he had started. When Roger had stood there looking like dessert - the tastiest damn thing he'd ever seen. He'd never done this before, hoped it wouldn't show, but he had a feeling Roger was new to this too. And that made it all the more exciting, because he'd never be doing this with any other guy, even if the world hadn't gone crazy.

"Don't stop, Peter," came a husky plea, and Peter smiled.

"Told you to be patient, didn't I?" he teased, his own voice less than steady.

"Can't." Roger experimentally pushed back against Peter, wriggled a little, his eyes heavy and half-lidded where they met Peter's in the mirror.

Peter was hypnotized by that gaze, and shaken to the core by the feel of Roger shifting and squirming against him. Yes. This was what he wanted. More than anything.

"Peter..." Roger's plea was no more than a sigh.

"You know what I want to do when you look at me like that?" Peter managed to get out.

"What?" Roger breathed.

Peter's lips touched Roger's ear when he whispered to him.

Roger was panting. "You really want that, Peter?" He swallowed.

Peter's left arm snaked around Roger's slender waist, pulled him back hard. He smirked in response to Roger's gasp. "You bet I do." His hand was on Roger's stomach, warm through the thin silk, and his other hand folded back the collar so he could press his lips to the side of Roger's neck.

Roger made a sound halfway between a moan and a hiss. His eyes closed, and he lifted his left hand to cover Peter's on his middle.

Peter looked down at their hands, and hooked his thumb over the edge of the next closed button. He yanked down hard, and the next two buttons flew into the mirror with a crack. "I'll get you a new shirt, baby," he whispered without missing a beat. "One that don't tear so easy."

Roger's eyes were sparkling with mirth and he was chewing his bottom lip as he watched Peter's hand move inside, up to his chest, pushing at the shirt until one nipple was bare. Peter's hand was warm and firm under his own, caressing Roger's pale skin, circling that hardening point until Roger was nearly mad with need.

Finally, Peter casually, as if by accident, let the edge of his thumb graze the pebbled skin, and Roger bit down hard. "Ow!"

"Shit, did I hurt you?" Peter asked, making to draw back his hand, but Roger held it where it was, clawed his fingers around Peter's to keep it there.

"Just bit my lip," Roger muttered sheepishly.

Peter stared at him in the mirror, at the way Roger was holding on to his hand, desperate not to let go of it, and he felt a surge of tenderness. Man, but he was so gone. So completely mad over Roger. He knew it, and he had no desire whatever to change it, even if he could. Smiling, he kissed Roger's cheek.

Roger swallowed. The brief pain was nearly forgotten. And then Peter's free hand cupped the back of his head and turned it to the side.

And Peter's lips were moving against his, Peter's tongue was parting them, isolating the abused bottom lip and playing with it, gently, as if to make sure it was okay, laving it with wet, slow curling motions over and over, then suckling on it and letting it pop from his mouth with a wet smack, and if not for Peter's arm around him, Roger's knees would have given in. The kiss started over, went on and on, while fingers brushed Roger's nipple, and Peter's other hand settled on Roger's hip, gripping it hard.

When Roger had to pull away to gasp in a breath, he looked up at Peter's stunned eyes - black and hot with need. It took him a moment to realize that Peter's hand was rubbing his hip, but when it moved forward, close to where he was pushing against the inside of the tight leather hot and hard, he couldn't help but spin his head back to look into the mirror. To watch.

Peter had widened his stance to lessen their height difference, even though the new position was a lot less pleasant for the state of his own arousal, now pushing and already leaking against the jeans Roger liked on him. He didn't give a damn about the jeans or what state they might end up in right then. He didn't give a damn about anything but Roger. He kissed and licked at Roger's cheek, at the strong but delicately sloping curve of his jawbone, and he kept fumbling with the leather pants until he was able to snap open the button and slide down the zipper. He felt Roger warm and hard under the leather, and the scent of his arousal mixed with the scent of new leather, like pure indulgence. Rich and intoxicating.

"You smell so good," Peter whispered through barely parted lips brushing a downy cheek. "Taste so good." He licked down the column of Roger's throat, and back up again nearer his nape. His hand meanwhile struggled with the zip, carefully pushed it down, and moved inside, over a strip of cotton and inside that as well. "Fuck, Roger!" Peter's groan was as loud as Roger's when his hand closed around him. "_Feel_ so damn good, baby."

Roger was panting and staring, wide-eyed, at Peter's hand vanishing inside his briefs. The feeling was unbelievable. And to watch just about had him passing out. He tried to shove his leather pants past his hips. Why did he have to get such tight ones?

Peter shushed him, stopped his frantic wriggling by simply releasing Roger from the confines of the leather, his cock cradled in his hand.

Roger swallowed hard, watched Peter's hand stroking him, his cock appearing and disappearing between long, smooth brown fingers, in a grip so tight, he thought he would come at any moment. "Peter, I... I'm..."

"Shh." Peter squeezed and held. "I won't let you. Not yet." Roger was shaking from head to toe. Peter reached between them, pushing down his own jeans and briefs far enough to release his painfully hard cock, letting it line up against the top of Roger's backside and the sleek, warm leather of his pants. He sighed with pleasure at the feel of it, rocked his hips just a little to savour the sensation, and wrapped his arm around Roger's waist again.

"Are you doing what I think you're doing?" Roger panted.

"Yeah." Peter smirked at him in the mirror.

"Oh god!" Roger pressed back, carefully, smiling at Peter's groan. "I wanna touch you, Peter."

Peter, breathing heavily, shook his head. "Not done with _you_ yet, baby." He squeezed hard, flicked his fingers over the tip to gather up fluid and gave a few rapid, merciless strokes which had Roger whimpering and shaking. "Not by a long shot."

Roger tried to laugh, but only managed a groan when Peter's fingers smoothly circled the head - flushed and leaking - to catch the next escaping drop. He watched, mesmerized, when Peter lifted his fingers to his lips and said, "Taste yourself, Rog."

Roger's tongue flicked out, and Peter let him suck his wet, salt-slick fingers into his mouth, groaning and unmistakably twitching against Roger's ass.

Roger sucked harder, greedy and desperate to make Peter lose control. To make Peter make _him_ lose control.

"Stop! Rog, stop!" Peter rasped. He was panting, any sign of composure gone. "Come here." Gripping Roger's chin he turned his head to the side almost painfully, crushed his mouth to Roger's, forcing his lips open and his own tongue inside to gather up any taste still remaining.

Roger groaned into Peter's mouth, rocking back against him, forward into the hand closing around his erection again, pleading with his entire body to be allowed to come.

And finally, finally, Peter took pity on him. Stroked him harder and faster, pressing into him while kissing his breath away.

When Roger started to shake, Peter tore his mouth away, forced Roger's head back to the mirror, his own eyes hungrily alternating between his fingers on Roger's cock and the heavy-lidded, feverish blue eyes watching. "Come on, baby. Do it now. Oh yeah..."

Roger drew a deep breath, his mouth agape, his hips thrusting forward sharply one more time, into Peter's grip, and then he was coming, so hard, he shot in an arc which hit the surface of the mirror, dripping down it while he kept coming.

"God, that's beautiful," Peter whispered, awed, still stroking, draining Roger to the last. "Just look at you. Look at you come so pretty, baby." His voice broke on a groan, and the way he jerked against Roger's ass was unmistakable.

"Peter..." Roger sighed, slumped, and was held up only by Peter's left arm around his middle. "Damn, Peter." He was panting, trying to get himself back together. The thought that Peter had come just watching him kept him on the edge. And then, he started smiling like crazy, and so was Peter, who turned him around, finally, and into his arms.

Roger reached up, tugging at Peter's tie. "Come down here," he said softly.

Peter leaned in, Roger arched his neck, and they kissed until they both saw stars.

When Roger could breathe and focus again, he smirked, wrapping the end of Peter's tie around his index finger. "This is pretty kinky, you know."

"It's just a tie," Peter said with a grin.

"Gives me ideas though. For next time, maybe."

Peter chuckled, ridiculously happy about that remark.

Roger leaned in and started laying kisses all over Peter's chest while rubbing up against him, trapping their now soft cocks between them.

Peter hummed in pleasure, his hands in Roger's hair, completely oblivious to Roger loosening the tie slowly but surely and pulling it from around his neck to drop it to the floor.

Roger managed to turn them both so Peter's back was to the mirror, and he kept leaning in, deepening the kiss, until Peter was hard up against it.

"What'cha doing, Rog?" Peter mumbled between kisses.

"Just propping you up," Roger answered with a smirk, his eyes twinkling with mischief, but they were too close for Peter to see. "You'll need it for what I have in mind for you."

Heat flared in Peter's eyes. "You probably noticed, but..."

"Don't you worry, baby," Roger said huskily, standing back and running his fingers down the lapels of Peter's open shirt. "I'll get you back up soon enough." He leaned in, started placing open-mouthed kisses on Peter's sculpted chest between the folds of cotton.

Peter groaned. "I don't doubt it!"

Roger smiled against his skin, exploring and teasing the expanse of dark skin, until he settled on one side and flicked his tongue against a deep brown nipple.

There was a growl and then a dull thud as the back of Peter's head connected with the mirror's surface, and Roger chuckled against the hard nub under his tongue, closed his lips around it and sucked hard.

"Rog..." Peter's hands were in his hair, holding his head in place so Roger wouldn't abandon the spot too soon.

Roger had no intention to. He suckled, licked, then chewed carefully until the nervous twitching of Peter's whole body told him the area was becoming too sensitive. He repeated the process on the other side, this time letting one hand wander down to caress the trembling flesh of Peter's belly.

"Roger..." Peter was pleading by the time Roger's mouth pressed against the base of his diaphragm, whimpering when Roger's tongue circled his bellybutton teasingly before moving right on, drawn by the scent of Peter's quickly renewing arousal, still slick from the first time.

"Come down here with me," Roger instructed, getting to his knees and sitting back on his calves.

Peter did as he was told, shrugging his shirt off altogether so his back was hard against the mirror's cold, come-streaked surface. His legs stretched out on either side of Roger, half-hard cock temptingly exposed.

Roger just sat and looked at him, at his cock - impressive in any state, Roger thought - and a soft, sexy smile played on his lips. He licked them.

"Damn, Rog, do something," Peter growled, shifting uncomfortably, growing harder under the close scrutiny.

"I am." Roger looked a bit too proud of himself, and Peter reached for him, but Roger was faster. "Oh no, my turn to play with you. Your turn to be patient. In fact..." He looked behind him, picked up the discarded tie, and grinned. "Hold out your hands."

Peter laughed, but it came out husky and a bit wild. "Would be more effective to bind them behind me."

"Nah." Roger winked. "Then you couldn't feed your cock to me."

Peter's eyes widened, his lips parted, and Roger's claim to have him back up soon enough came true right then. He held out his hands, not as sure and steady as usually, and watched Roger tie them one palm-up inside the other.

"Very nice." Roger ran his thumb across the centre of Peter's exposed palm.

Peter shivered. "Please, Rog."

Roger knelt on all fours, his cute ass up in the air, crouching low like a cat. "Give it to me, Peter. Put it in my mouth."

At that point, Peter was quite sure he might be the innocent in that situation, but he had no mind to think about that or anything else. His bound hands were trembling when he laid them under his cock, aiming it right at Roger's face.

Roger leaned in, parted his lips, let Peter rest his cock in the centre of his bottom lip, not moving at first. Then, ever so lightly, he flicked his tongue across the tip and Peter groaned, reflexively pushing in, then drawing out immediately for fear he'd hurt Roger.

But Roger's mouth followed, stayed on his cock, moving down further, soft and wet and irresistible.

Peter's jaw was clenched, but he didn't move, didn't push, waited to see how far Roger could take him. "Anything's fine with me, baby," he gasped, hesitantly letting his fingertips caress the underside of Roger's chin.

Roger's lips tightened on him, and his tongue started to curl and press against the heavy, throbbing vein on the underside.

Peter was panting, the muscles in his thighs trembling, and then the tip of his cock hit the back of Roger's throat.

Roger chocked a little, drew back, but no more than half an inch. There was a flush on his face, concentration furrowing his brows.

Peter wanted to kiss him. Hold him. Fuck him like he'd never wanted to fuck a woman in his life. "You're doing so good, baby," he whispered brokenly.

Roger's eyes met his, glittering, and then he tilted his head sideways and started to slide his lips up and down more quickly, alternating between soft and tight, while his tongue dragged on each downstroke and curled around the head languidly before sliding back up.

Peter was groaning, his cock twitching in the warmth of Roger's mouth.

Roger's hands rested on Peter's thighs then, before he moved one down below Peter's bound hands, stroking them as he went past to let his fingertips brush the tightly drawn-up balls he could just reach in Peter's open jeans and boxers.

Peter gasped sharply, squeezed his eyes shut.

The taste of new come mingled with the slickness of Peter's first orgasm on Roger's tongue, and Roger moaned, drew back, not quite letting Peter slip from his mouth. He parted his lips, the leaking tip of Peter's cock resting on his bottom lip, and holding eye contact, he licked the slit, curling his tongue to not miss a drop, flicking it faster and faster, until the velvety texture of the head became too much temptation and he enclosed it entirely once more.

"Roger!" Peter panted. "God, yes! Now, baby. Can't hold back."

Roger's hand pushed Peter's own aside to grasp Peter's cock and stroke him hard into his mouth, working him into a frenzy until he felt the first jet of come against the roof of his mouth. He swallowed quickly; it was more than he'd expected. But he was instantly addicted to the sweet bitterness, suckling greedily while Peter turned into a shuddering, groaning wreck before him.

When Roger pulled back, letting the soft, spongy head slip from his lips, Peter raised his bound hands above his head and pushed himself away from the mirror until he was flat on his back, with Roger just about in his lap.

Roger's skin was flushed, he was hard and moments away from coming a second time himself.

Peter stretched his arms forward and reached around Roger's neck, drawing him forward. "This time, I want you coming all over me, baby," Peter rasped, his eyes burning into Roger's. He bucked his hips up against Roger, bumping Roger's arousal.

Roger groaned, straddled Peter's right thigh and leaned into a frenzied kiss. He started grinding into the hard, denim-clad muscles of Peter's thigh, the friction both delicious and painfully raw against his oversensitive cock.

There was a rough tearing sound behind him and Peter's hands were free, gripped his hips, lifted and then pulled him down until Roger was rutting against Peter's sticky, wet groin.

"Shit!" Roger panted against Peter's mouth. "Shit, Peter! Fuck! Fuck!!" He threw his head back, his neck arching, and with another hard shove, spilled himself all over Peter's groin, belly and chest, before collapsing on top of him.

Breathing heavily, hearts pounding, they lay like that for a few minutes, Peter's arms - wrists raw from tearing the tie apart - wrapped around Roger, his hands stroking his sweat-damp back in tired circles.

"Oh, man," Roger panted against his neck in hot, damp puffs.

"Yeah." Peter smiled, rubbing his chin against Roger's temple. "I'm glad I didn't pay for that tie. It was junk. Just like your shirt."

Roger snorted. "Just as well though."

"True enough."

Roger raised his head, resting his chin on the back of his hands and looking into Peter's eyes. "We should try this with chains next time."

There was a definite glint of interest in Peter's eyes. "And designer gear. Or... hey, I wonder if we can find suits of armour in this place?"

Roger chuckled. "You're crazy, man."

"Just as well you are too, then."

Roger grinned from ear to ear. "I like your kind of crazy."

Peter cupped the back of Roger's head. "I kinda like everything about you."

Roger kissed him long and hard. "Same to you, baby. Guess that means I won't need to chain you down?"

Peter grinned at him, his thumb tracing Roger's jaw. "No, you won't." A pause. "But might be fun anyway."

THE END

  
© and ™ of characters, locations, and some story lines - George A. Romero and possibly other entities; this story was written solely for the entertainment of other fans; no profit is made and no harm or infringement intended.


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